


Friends Like These

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 08:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty has those friends who aren't friends, and it's hard to shake them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends Like These

**Author's Note:**

> For distaff_exile, as she requested for her holiday fic. I hope you like it, darling!

He's getting stared at. Scotty considers his options. He can laugh it off. He can say he was kidding. He could bluster his way through. He is reminded, as they start to gather their wits, that he avoids them when he can because everything he says is an opportunity to endlessly mock him. And he's just told them about Chekov.

"Chekov?" Leon asks, coughing from having nearly spit out his drink. "You're talking about Pavel Chekov, right? The 'Fleet's shiny new genius?"

It was supposed to be a pint and some pointless conversation, Scotty thinks. That's what he'd been told when Leon had called. Part of him had resisted the urge to go; he'd barely spoken to Leon, Mitchell, and Talia since the last time he'd been planet side—pre-Delta Vega—and it was only wanting to tell them about the Enterprise that had gotten him to the pub. Idiot, he thinks. You've not been friends for years because pints lead to 'let's make fun of Monty until he gets angry', and Scotty hates that game.

"He beat my kid at the damned marathon two years ago," Mitchell chimes in. He squints in the universal 'don't mind me, just an engineer doing mental math' look, and his mouth drops open. "He's nineteen!" The rest of the table collapses into yelling, and Scotty seriously considers murdering Mitchell. Slowly. Painfully. With something dull.

"He's—" is as far as Scotty gets before they're on him again.

"Nineteen! Did you get a note from his parents?" Talia asks, laughing so hard she almost falls out of her chair.

"Forget the note," Leon counters. "He's probably checked birthdates so he could lie and say he was younger."

"Oi!" Scotty yells. They all freeze, knowing his tone from their time as cadets, knowing he's three seconds away from flipping the table to get attention if he feels it's necessary. "And this is why I don't tell you fuckers a goddamned thing!" And this is why he tries to avoid them, he thinks. How'd he get roped in again? Oh, yes, stupidity.

There's exactly three seconds of silence before Leon cracks up again, setting off Mitchell and Talia. "Oh, come on, Monty!" Leon says, slapping Scotty on the back. "We're just giving you shit!"

"You're the one who decided to rob the cradle," Talia adds.

Scotty stands. "I'll leave you to it."

"Oh, come on!" Mitchell calls after him, but Scotty doesn't turn around, just stares at the door until he's outside, the bite of the late October wind in San Francisco making his shiver.

"Monty!" Leon's followed him out, apparently. He wraps his arms around himself as Scotty turns to face him. "Come on, man, we're just teasing."

"Yeah," Scotty says, looking away from Leon, down the street at the people walking away. "Sure." They've been 'just teasing' since they were cadets, Scotty becoming the teased through some equation he hasn't figure out. Maybe because of the four of them, he's always proven himself the smartest. Or maybe it's because he's been the most adept at making actual, non-engineering friends who truly like him.

"You can't be sore about this," Leon says like it's fact. "You'd take any of us to the mats for the same thing."

"I wouldn't," Scotty's voice is sharp enough to make Leon wince. "I never have. It's always been the three of you against me for some reason."

"Oh, come off it!" Leon shouts, jutting his chin. "We don't rag you on everything, but he's nineteen. You're going to be forty in three months—hey!" Leon reaches out as Scotty turns away. "You know we're going to give you shit for running off to sulk."

"Yeah," Scotty says. "And if I hadn't. And if I'd been dating someone my age, or older, or from another planet, or anything, really. It's your default." He shakes off Leon's arm, turns into the wind, "Drinks are still on me," he tells Leon. "Paid for them before we all sat down." He doesn't hear Leon's response, ten steps away before Leon can do more than shout something indignant.

Scotty finds a bus stop two blocks down from the bar. He checks the routes and schedules and figures the twenty minute wait will do him good. He doesn't want to go home angry, doesn't want to explain to Chekov why he's tense and shaking and wanting to break something just to put it back together.

His communicator chirps. "Yeah?" Scotty answers, curling into the corner of the bus shelter.

"It is I," Chekov says, his accent even thicker over the communicator. "You are receiving many calls from three very angry people." He pauses, obviously waiting for Scotty to explain it. "They are very funny," he adds when the silence carries long enough he knows he won't get a response.

"Save them," Scotty gets out, teeth gritting at the idea of Leon, Mitchell, and Talia calling to leave obscene messages about his behavior. "You can mock them when I get home."

"I am mocking them now," Chekov tells him. "I could do so for you until you get home."

"No. I'll be home soon enough."

"Be careful," Chekov says, and the comm chirps off. For all his grasp of the English language, Scotty thinks, Chekov will never learn how to properly say goodbye. Once he's finished, he signs off. Scotty's not sure if he should laugh or cry or yell. The bus arrives before he can decide, and he sits in the front, directly behind the driver, because the chances of someone trying to chat him up drop considerably in that spot.

Chekov opens the door of the flat before Scotty can take out his keys. "There is a woman here named Talia," Chekov says in undertone. "She calls you 'Monty' and seems to suspect me of terrible things."

"What do you think about 'Monty'?"

Chekov wrinkles his nose. "Monty's are very stuffy and smell of wet dogs in small houses."

"And Scotty?"

"Scotty's are wonderful," Chekov tells him, "Very smart. Very handsome. Very taken by good-looking Russian men."

"What about gangly Russian men?"

"You will have to find one and ask," Chekov replies, but his tone isn't quite light. He touches Scotty's bare arm when Scotty takes off his jacket. "She is one of your friends," he says so it's not quite a question.

"Not really."

"You said you were having drinks with friends."

"Miscommunication." Scotty scratches his elbow. "Because I keep forgetting how definitions work."

"I can be in the room," Chekov offers.

"No. That'll only complicate things more."

"Why are things complicated?"

"Go get tucked in," Scotty says rather than answer. He brushes a kiss across Chekov's cheek. "This won't take but a minute."

The set of Chekov's mouth promises a demand for an explanation later, but Chekov nods and turns away, only giving Scotty a concerned look over his shoulder.

Talia is standing in the middle of the sitting room, left arm behind her back grabbing at her right elbow. "He's cute," she says in greeting.

"Leave," Scotty replies. "Just leave."

"You were always overdramatic."

Scotty bristles. "Really?" He breathes out hard through his nose, watches Talia cross her arms. "And how so? I told you all a bit of truth that's deeper than pleasantries, and I get shit on about it."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, come on, Monty."

"No." Scotty snaps. "I'm not doing this again."

"Doing what again?"

"This." Scotty waves a hand between them. "I say I'm in a relationship, and you lot decide the best way of responding is to ask what's wrong with it, poke around until you get some piece of information you can wave over my head for however long the damned thing lasts. If I told you something about the Enterprise malfunctioning, you'd ask what I'd fucked up. If I told you I was leaving Starfleet, you'd say I'd killed someone."

"We're just having fun!"

"You're not," Scotty says. "If you were, you'd have known years ago what absolute twats the three of you are when I say anything."

"Oh, lighten up," Talia says. "You act like we've insulted you or something."

"Out!" Scotty roars, and he hears a thump down the hall that can only be Chekov jumping in surprise. "Now." He adds before Talia can respond. "The three of you can fuck off, yeah?"

She glares. "God, you are—"

"He said to leave," Chekov's suddenly at Scotty's elbow, tone polite; his face is guileless, but Scotty can hear the undertone of determination in his voice. "You should."

Talia gives Chekov a once-over, weighs his dark green sleep pants and thin-boned frame. "I'm not talking to you," she snaps.

"And you'll continue not doing that," Scotty promises. "Out." He stares her down until she moves, watches the way she tries to "accidentally" hit Chekov's shoulder and grins when Chekov side-steps her with ease.

"She is your friend?" Chekov asks as the door slam shakes the windows.

Scotty runs a hand over his face and sighs. "It's a bit weird."

"She is an ex?" Chekov shrugs when Scotty gives him a confused look. "She came here. She insinuated rude things. She obviously found me much prettier than her." He tosses his head on the last sentence like he's preening in a mirror. It makes Scotty smile a little.

"She's not an ex," Scotty says. "She's just…" He shrugs and notices the blinking light on the house comm. He walks over and presses the delete button. "Did you ever have friends who weren't actually friends?"

"I do not understand."

"That'd be a 'no', then." Scotty looks at the house comm again. "Why didn't you answer?" he asked.

"I was in shower. I only heard the messages, and you said to leave them."

"Ah."

There's a silence, and Scotty lets his head hang as Chekov curls around his back in a hug. "I still do not understand," Chekov says against his shoulder, "about friends not being friends."

"There are people who are friends," Scotty says, "and they want you to be happy and comfortable and have all the wonderful bits of life, and there are people who can disguise themselves as that, and even though you know it's a disguise, you tell yourself that maybe it's not, maybe it's changed, maybe they've decided to stop being utter cocks."

"Hmm." The murmur vibrates through Scotty's back. "How did you get them?" Chekov asks like Scotty's just told him he has lungworms. "You are very smart and nice. How do you get people who are not friends?"

"We used to be," Scotty says, "I think. I know we had some good times, at least."

"Something went wrong?" Chekov asks, voice quiet.

"I suppose." Scotty squeezes his eyes shut, opens them, turns to look Chekov in the eyes. "Short version is simple: They weren't useless; now they are, and they've been for awhile, but I forgot."

"You forget nothing," Chekov contradicts. "I have seen you forget nothing."

The phrasing makes Scotty smile. "Been on the Enterprise too long, I think. Everyone there, even if they're not you're mate, everyone there wants to get along to some degree, yeah?"

"Yes," Chekov agrees. "And these people you drank with, they do not?"

"Maybe they're jealous," Scotty muses.

"Perhaps they are simply jerk offs," Chekov replies.

Scotty barks a laugh. "Perhaps," he agrees. He smiles at Chekov, touches his cheek. "Come on," he says, "I'll let you take me to bed."

*

Kirk rings the house comm the next morning. "You two busy?" he asks. "Non-ship stuff, so you can be busy."

"We're not," Scotty says, sipping his tea. "Not been up more than twenty minutes, though."

"Had breakfast, yet?"

"No."

Kirk beams. "Great. Chris and I were thinking of grabbing chow some place, and he wants to talk to the two of you about the latest things you've exploded in the name of science."

Scotty glances at Chekov, who's out of sight of the comm and browsing through a PADD. Chekov nods. "I've got a yes over here. Where were you thinking?"

An hour later the four of them sit down at a sidewalk café. Pike orders for all of them with Kirk explaining that it's one of his favorite places to eat. "They've got great omlettes," he promises, and before Scotty can ask how many kinds, a man about Kirk's age walks up.

"Jimmy! I knew it!"

Scotty is amazed to discover that Kirk can blush. He spares a glance at Chekov and sees he looks similarly shocked. Pike just looks annoyed and drops an arm along the back of Kirk's chair when the man starts asking how many people Kirk's screwed on shore leave.

"Pardon us," Pike cuts in as the man scoffs when Kirk says he's in a relationship, "we're having breakfast, and you weren't invited."

The man eyes Pike, looks at Kirk, gives Scotty and Chekov the barest glance, and walks away, muttering something that Scotty almost asks him to say loudly enough for the class to hear.

"Jesus," Kirk says, dropping his head in his hands. "How do I always run into one of those assholes at reputable places?"

"Because you only go to reputable places, now," Pike replies, a grin at the edge of his mouth. "And, apparently, so do they."

Kirk elbows him in the side, gives an apologetic grimace to Scotty and Chekov. "Sorry. Guy who knew me pre-Starfleet. He still thinks I'm the same dick I was."

"You are an entirely different dick, Sir," Chekov says, straight-faced.

"Thanks," Kirk says, deadpan, but he grins. "Just one of those things, I guess. You can grow up and grow out, but some fungus will always try to reattach itself to who you used to be."

"I know some fungus like that," Scotty says, and something loosens in his chest when he tells the brief version to Kirk and Pike. "I always forget what complete wastes they are," he admits, "until we're in the pub again because I convinced myself they wouldn’t pull the same tricks."

"That's the problem with military life," Pike says, "you fight enemies who want to kill you and forget about the ones who want to deride you."

"And then you get on Enterprise and make friends and forget about not friends," Chekov adds. He glances at Scotty. "Yes?"

"Yes," Scotty agrees. "And you're all hearby allowed to remind me next time if I say I'm having a drink with those bastards."

"You should have one more," Kirk says, surprising them all. "I'd love to meet them." His grin goes malicious.

"Well—" Scotty starts.

"No," Chekov interrupts.

"What could—"

"Remember how I met you," Pike cuts off Kirk. "And remind me how that went."

The four of them laugh. Kirk leans against the table, crosses his arms in front of his place. "You think we've got it bad, some of the stuff Bones has told me about the friends who sided with his wife would make you feel lucky."

"And Spock," Scotty adds. "Saved the world, and they still think he's a dick."

"Well—" Chekov squirms when Scotty pokes him. "Easy opening," he mutters.

Pike holds up his orange juice. "To friends," he says, "and the bastards who could be so lucky."

"Here! Here!" Kirk shouts and clinks his glass against Pike's.

Scotty touches his glass to Chekov's, leans forward to tap it against Kirk's and Pike's. "Friends like those—"

"Require better drinks," Kirk finishes.

Scotty laughs. "Close enough."


End file.
